Second Daughter (The Royals of Dharia, Book Two) Read online

  “And spies in her court as well.”

  He meant Devesh, but of course there could be others. Aniri balled up her fists. “I will travel back to Dharia to tell her myself.”

  Ash’s shoulders dropped. “And if you run home when you should be making preparations for our wedding, the people will wonder if there is trouble in the royal household.”

  Aniri made a graceless noise of frustration, brushed past Ash, and strode the length of the small room. She peered up at the arch at the end, picturing her and Ash, Dharia and Jungali personified, standing underneath it, exchanging their vows. It was a prudent match, but that wasn’t why they were marrying—was it? She had made the decision on a whim and for love. But maybe those were the same thing. Maybe love was as foolish as any of the decisions she had made to date. A shudder ran through her. She had only known the prince a few weeks, and he was right: there had been nothing but adventure and intrigue and daring feats during that time. Was she merely swept up in it? And now that war loomed, how could she possibly know for sure?

  “Is there trouble in the royal household, Aniri?” Ash had remained at his end of the room. His arms were folded across the black-embroidered finery of his jacket, and his bronzed face seemed darker with the scowl carved in it.

  She bit her lip, hesitating, then took slow, careful steps toward him, stopping by a box overflowing with gauzy fabric. “Perhaps we should postpone the wedding.” She sped up at the fall of his shoulders. “Only until we can resolve this matter with the second skyship and whether we will soon be at war.” But, in truth, that would give her time to settle her heart as well. To know this was the right choice, without the uncertainties of war tangling it.

  “And what then?” he asked coolly. “Shall we marry to make an alliance for the sake of winning a war?”

  “No,” she said harshly. “I mean, yes! But not for that reason.” She flung out her hands in frustration, knocking the box of fabric so that it cascaded the filmy fabric on top of her. She fought it back, growling as she disentangled from it.

  A smile warmed the chilled look on Ash’s face. “Your mother will be here for the wedding in a week,” he said gently. “That’s enough time for me to dispatch spies to Samir and begin to ready us for war, if need be. In the meantime, let the preparations for the wedding distract you.”

  Heat rose in her face as she pushed away the sheer fabric clinging to her. “I can’t bear the thought of planning a party when my sister and mother might be in danger.”

  Ash stepped closer and carefully pushed the last bit of unruly material back into the box. He peered down into her eyes. “Do you wish to cancel the wedding?” he asked softly.

  She took a deep breath. “No.”

  “Then let us move it up. Get it behind us so we can focus on the future.”

  Aniri swallowed. It was a sensible idea, yet… “It will take at least two days for my mother to arrive. Priya will probably die of heart failure if I tell her that’s all the time she has to prepare.” She didn’t mention that her heart was attempting to hammer its way out of her chest. Two days. It would clear the way for them to deal with the looming possibility of war, but it seemed to hasten an already hasty decision, sending her hurtling toward something that was more like an abyss than a wedding.

  Ash smiled. “The people want a celebration, Aniri. Let’s give it to them. It will reassure them that the worst is behind us.”

  Aniri tried not to let her rising alarm show. “Two days, then.” Her heart continued to slam against her chest. Two days to reassure it that she was making the right decision. Two days of patience while Ash unraveled the mystery of the second skyship. But while Ash might think the wedding preparations would distract her, she knew better. She would have to find something that would truly settle her heart, and there was only one thing for that: finding a way to get her sister Seledri out of Samir before war was upon them all.

  Aniri climbed the spiral steps of the slim, white-granite tower, pressing herself against the wall to let the Jungali sailors pass with their burdens: copper tubing, machinery bristling with gear teeth, and crates of every size from teetering small boxes to ones that took two porters to ferry down the steps. The captain of the skyship was in the dungeon along with the others who conspired with General Garesh, so it must be Master Tinker Karan who had ordered all the activity. It seemed he was offloading the entire contents of the skyship.

  Which must mean he was trying to lighten the ship for takeoff.

  Aniri increased her pace, afraid she wouldn’t catch him before they departed for Sik province. Ash had already agreed to bring Karan into their confidence about the second skyship, but the prince was busy arranging spies and planning a wedding. Aniri had broken the news of the tight deadline to Priya, and after a minute of shrieking, her handmaiden had disappeared in search of the necessary goods to make the wedding happen. Which left Aniri with an opportunity she had no intention of wasting: a moment to catch Karan and grill him about the Samirian capability to build a skyship of their own.

  When Aniri reached the top of the tower, the mayhem was even more pronounced. Dozens of young men and women—a couple she recognized as guards from her stay in the palace before—scurried across the open stone terrace to batten down lightweight items that threatened fly away in the gusty breeze. She understood their haste: anything that worked its way loose would be lost to the thousand-foot cliff that bordered the estate. Less comprehensible was the frenetic pace of everyone else. A few were dressed in tinker outfits—rugged work pants, leather-laced boots, and suspenders holding up belts laden with tools—but most wore the uniforms of palace guards or black, military-styled jackets with double-rowed buttons left half-undone, as if they were hurriedly thrown on before reporting for duty. All moved as though Devkalaka herself—goddess of change and war—was bearing down on them with a blade in each of her six hands.

  The skyship loomed over the entire enterprise. Its billowing gas bag was slack for want of enough lighter-than-air navia gas to fill it, and the wind tormented it into shuddering waves of brilliant blue. The narrow, wooden platform on top rocked dangerously, but she couldn’t see the brass butterfly, or the burning glass, as the prince called the beautiful weapon that almost destroyed her home. It must be laid flat to keep it from blinding everyone. The ship itself was tethered by thick ropes to the parapets of the tower, and they snapped as the wind constantly tested them. Along the sides were a half dozen fins, like masts with folding sails turned sideways, but they were battened down to save them from the gusts.

  A hasty parade of people along the gangplank offloaded goods. Aniri picked her way past the busy workers, none of whom gave her a second glance in her adventuring clothes—she had quickly changed from her royal attire into the same rough pants and leather-bound boots as the skyship crew. Karan was nowhere to be seen on the deck, gangplank, or terrace. Knowing him, he would be deep inside the ship, most likely the engine room—she only hoped she could get him alone for a short while.

  Aniri waited for a gap in the stream of workers along the gangplank, then worked her way across, ignoring the precipitous drop to the forested canyons below. The distant mountains were still frosted with snow at the tips, even deep in summer as they were, but all of that was lost once she plunged into the relative darkness of the ship’s below-deck corridors. She had learned the layout mostly under duress, but it was still familiar. The narrow, rivet-bound hallways and bulkhead doors reminded her of a Samirian submarine. She ducked under low-hanging brass tubes, pattered down a metal-grated staircase, and dodged a couple of tinkers hurrying through the hall, schematics held in front of them, before she found the engine room. This was where they had first seized the ship from Garesh’s men, committing acts of mutiny to counter his acts of treason.

  The two-story engine room was less frenetic than the rooftop, with only Karan and a couple of tinkers at one of the six-foot-tall control panels, and two crewmen busy feeding shovels of coal into the twin brass engines at the back. The
room wasn’t as smoke-filled as the last time she was aboard, but the heat of the engines made Aniri wish her leather jacket wasn’t quite so snug. She loosened the top straps and stepped closer to Karan and his tinkers. Karan was massive compared to their slim builds, but his thick, bronzed fingers were nimble as they danced across the metal panel of needle gauges and toggle switches. It was clear who was the Master and who were the apprentices.

  “When we start up the blades, don’t be gawkin’ at your crewmates, aye?” His voice was low and gruff. “Startup’s when we’re most a danger of overheatin’, so watch your gauges and be alert. We haven’t the parts here for fixin’ her, not till we get back to the airharbor, so don’t be wrecking my ship before then.”

  “Aye, sir,” the two tinkers, one male and one female, said in unison. They were young, a year or two older than Aniri, and she had only just passed her eighteenth birthday. Karan was a few years older, but the corners of his deep brown eyes had wrinkles which made him seem wise past his days.

  She didn’t think he had noticed her, but then he grunted out, “Whatcha standing there for? Get to unloadin’ like the rest of the—” He cut himself off when he looked up. “Ah, fresh! Tired of the palace life already? Lookin’ to join the crew?”

  She smiled broadly. “Do you have a need for shiners? I might have some experience in that area.” Polishing the beautiful but dangerous panels of the butterfly wasn’t what she came for, but it might give her a chance to draw Karan away from the prying eyes of engine room.

  He smirked and shook his head, but he directed his words to the tinkers, who stood looking between them with wide eyes. “Get to work, you lot.” He waved them off. “We’ll not be getting’ into the air on the power of your gawking alone.” They nearly tripped over themselves backing away and scurrying to the far end of the control panels. But they stayed there, still watching Karan and Aniri. And still within earshot.

  He turned his attention back to her. “I’d prefer if you kept your distance from the burning glass, fresh. I’m still figuring how to fix the mess you made the last time.” His smile was teasing, but she knew how he felt about the ship. Even the parts that could “rain down fire from the sky” as he put it.

  “A different job then,” she said brightly. “Maybe up on the bridge? I’d love to learn more about the skyship, and I won’t be in the way.” She glanced at the tinkers. They were trying to appear as though they weren’t straining to hear their conversation over the clattering of shovels and boilers building steam.

  Karan’s smile softened. “I’d love to have ye as an apprentice, Aniri, but I’m full up with fresh lookers who don’t know a toggle from a check valve.” Karan checked a gauge on the control panel next to them as he talked, then pushed down a large-handled lever labeled “rudder.” It clunked when it reached the bottom. Karan checked the gauge again. “With Garesh’s men in the brig, I’m a bit short on crew. Had to scrounge from the kitchen for this lot.” Nodding to himself, Karan held up a leather gauntlet on his beefy forearm. It was festooned with dials and tiny sleeves for minute tinker tools. He drew out a pencil, made a tiny notation on an even tinier pad of paper, then stowed the pencil again. “Don’t know how Ash expects us to get off the ground in this state with no respectable crew, but he’s all fired to get back to the airharbor and make repairs. Though, can’t say I blame him for that part.”

  “How soon are you leaving?” She might have to outright ask for a moment alone. With all the activity, they could be departing at any moment.

  “Truth is, we’re ready now.” He gave a small, mysterious smile. “But I’ve a bit of business to finish before we get aloft.” Aniri’s eyebrows rose, but before she could ask, he continued on, “But there is one position we need to fill by the time we get the Prosperity in top form again.” Karan smiled wide. “We’re in need of a captain, fresh. Perhaps ye could take a shot at it?”

  He was mocking her.

  “I’m not even qualified to captain a shashee,” she said. The shashee were large, slow-moving animals, traditional Jungali war beasts, and the physical incarnation of the mountain goddess Devpahar. Any Jungali child could probably direct the shaggy creatures given a tapping cane and a way to hold on.

  Karan gave a deep, rumbling laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short, fresh. You seem to do best in a pinch.” His eyes were glittering with humor, and Aniri winced. She didn’t mind his teasing, but it wasn’t much of a credit to her to get out of a pinch of her own making. Especially when it put other people at risk.

  “Yes, I excel at ruining perfectly good sabers and burning glasses at the same time.” She didn’t regret tossing her father’s saber onto the burning glass to stop its ruinous progress toward the capital, but she was concerned that Karan might not be able to fix it again. As Ash said, they might have need of it. “What will it take to make the butterfly operational?”

  Karan sobered. “Well, that sword of yours was high-tempered Samirian steel. It made a fine mess when it turned to slag. We’ll likely have to cut the burning glass crystal again. A tricky business that, but better than mining another, assuming we could even find one. Huge spot of luck stumbling on the first one, so best not to count on that.”

  “What about the butterfly wings?” As Aniri recalled, when her father’s saber melted, some of it splashed on the brass plates that directed the sun’s energy to the crystal.

  “Those are easier done. All told, should be done within a week. But the prince says I’ve only got two days. Don’t know quite how that’s going to happen, but those are my orders. Supposed to be back in top shape in time for your wedding, fresh.” He smirked again. “Don’t want to be freezing my parts in Sik province while you’re having all the fun in Bhakti.”

  Two days. Her stomach hollowed out with the reminder. She didn’t want to delay Karan’s repairs, but she had no time to waste. She glanced at the tinkers, who had slowly crept closer to them. “Do you have time for a word alone, Karan?”

  “I suppose.” But then a light pattering and rustle at the door behind her caught his notice. His face lit up, and this time his smile was all joy.

  Aniri turned to find her handmaiden, Priya, carefully lifting her skirts over the bulkhead door. Her dress was layers of cream-colored silks that took the full width of the door, topped with a corset that dripped in lace, but left her shoulders bare. Aniri cringed as Priya tiptoed across the coal-dust covered floor in tiny satin slippers. This was finer wear than she normally donned for tea. What in the name of Devkasera was she thinking, wearing it on a skyship?

  “Priya! I would have returned for your preparations. You didn’t need to fetch me, especially in that.” She gestured to Priya’s skirts which were still hiked up off the floor.

  Aniri’s words, indeed her presence, seemed to catch Priya by surprise. “My lady! I didn’t expect you here.” She darted a look to Karan.

  “I can see that.” Aniri knew the romance between Priya and Karan had blossomed since they worked together to engineer Aniri’s rescue, but she hadn’t had time to query Priya about it in the whirlwind of events.

  Priya recovered, dropped her hold on her skirts, and clasped her hands together. “But this is even more perfect, don’t you think, Karan?”

  “Well, I offered to make her captain,” Karan said, “but she was having none of that. Royalty should do, though, don’t you think?”

  “Should do for what?” Aniri frowned.

  Priya skittered to close the space between them and took Aniri’s hands in hers. “Karan and I are to be betrothed,” she said, breathless. “Will you be witness for us?”

  “I… what?” Aniri dashed a look to Karan, her heart missing a beat.

  He looked very pleased with himself. “That bit of business I told you about.”

  “But… you…” She swung back to her handmaiden and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Priya, you can’t be serious. You can’t marry Karan! You only just met.” That familiar squeeze on her chest grew tighter.

  Pri
ya arched her eyebrows and pulled herself up to her full height. “If it’s good enough for my lady, it’s good enough for me.” She made a small curtsey and grinned a secret smile for Karan. He chuckled, and the bottom dropped out of Aniri’s stomach. She had only told Priya that the wedding date was moved, not her misgivings of it. Aniri wasn’t sure whether her nuptials were a hastily-made mistake, but she was certain that this was nothing short of disastrous.

  She turned to Karan intending to forbid it, but stalled out at the adoring look he was giving Priya. Instead, she said, “Karan, I… I thought you were leaving.”

  “I’ll be back, fresh,” he said, still looking at Priya. “In time for your wedding, and with any luck at all, mine as well.”

  Priya squeaked with happiness and dropped one of Aniri’s hands to take hold of Karan’s. “Say you’ll do it, my lady. It would mean ever so much to both of us.”

  Karan’s face lost its humor, and both he and Priya looked expectantly at her.

  Aniri swallowed, lost for words, but unable to say no in the face of their happiness. “I… what do you want me to do, exactly?”

  Priya dropped Aniri’s hand and took both of Karan’s. His hands were enormous compared to her delicate ones. He was a giant next to her, dressed in oil besmirched tinker’s clothes that tarnished her perfectly neat cream-colored skirts just with their nearness.

  Priya gazed up into Karan’s eyes, but her words were for Aniri. “We want you to witness our betrothal, my lady.” She glanced at Aniri. “It’s a Samirian tradition. The exchange of betrothal gifts and a witness to it.”

  Aniri nodded even though she did not approve of this at all. “But why must you betrothe so quickly?” she couldn’t help asking. She struggled to keep her desperation to stop this out of her voice. But her words seemed to go unheard as Karan and Priya gazed at one another.

  Karan dug into one of the many tiny leather-satchel pockets on his tinker belt. He withdrew a key on a thin leather cord. It was slender, with a square tip and clockwork mechanisms at the head that sprouted tiny wings.